Too much to bear
by Cassandra Pierson
Summary: Sometimes letting go of someone is the only thing left to do. Damn it, MacLeod hissed, kicking himself inwardly for his own stupidity. He had probably driven Methos away. He was such an idiot. SLASH DM M.
1. Too much

Fandom: Highlander: The Series  
Pairing: DM/M  
Word Count: 1134  
Time frame: 1 hour and 10 minutes  
Beta: Darkmoore  
Disclaimer: HL:TS doesn't belong to me, never did belong to me and never will. It is the sole property of Panzer/Davis. I am not making any money of this, it's just a work of love.

Please do not copy or post my stories without contacting me first. Thank you.

Author's Notes: Only recently darkmoore, hisgirlspacey and myself have revised one of those huge tables. 100 words/phrases to inspire you. Well, now we have our own inspiration table! It really does work, and this little thing was pretty much sparked by the prompts. I didn't think I'd ever return to the Highlander: The Series fandom. Obviously I was wrong.

"Too much" 

Nursing the same warm beer he had started out with three hours ago, Methos studied the label. The edges were soaked, peeling off on their own and curling inward. He had ignored the curious stares he had received from Joe the moment he had set foot into the bar. Naturally his completely out of character behaviour drew the attention of the Watcher like nothing else. Right then and there Methos couldn't care less. His mind was occupied somewhere else.

_"I love you, Methos."_

Sighing in frustration the ancient Immortal shook his head to free it from the little voice that kept repeating those words over and over again, like an endless loop on his MP3 player. Why did MacLeod have to spoil everything? Why did he have to go and say those words out loud?

Of course Methos had known what MacLeod felt for him, it was obvious every time they made love, every time the other Immortal looked simply at him or touched him. However, to voice it was an entirely different matter. A serious matter. Why couldn't MacLeod leave alone what was working; why did he have to go and destroy everything? Methos tugged on the upper right corner of the label and frowned darkly when it ripped a bit.

"What crawled up your butt and died?"

Startled Methos looked at Joe, who was just settling into the chair next to his. The Watcher's eyes were trained on the stage, where the live-band was performing. "Nothing," Methos ground out shortly and went back to staring at his bottle. He had been perfectly happy where he was, staring at his drink, tuning out the band and the noises from the crowd. Perfectly happy. Positively chipper.

"You've been sitting here for nearly four hours, glaring at your beer like it tried to kill your best friend. No wonder everyone is giving you a wide berth," Joe replied offhandedly. "So give. Sometimes it's good to get it off your chest."

Contemplating that advice, Methos tugged on the label again, absent mindedly ripping a little piece of it off on purpose this time. "He said he loved me," he finally muttered. He braved a quick look at Joe. The amusement evident on the Mortal's face nearly unhinged Methos. "He had to go and ruin everything." Even to himself that sounded petulant, deepening his feeling of ... unhappiness? Desperation? He couldn't even put to words how MacLeod had made him feel. How could the Highlander talk of love and make him feel like crap?

"Yeah, how dare he tell you how committed he is. I mean, the gall of the man," Joe said lightly.

Bristling, Methos glared at Joe, "It's not like that." It was amazing how Joe could always make him feel better. Not. It was like the Mortal could always find the _one_ place in his defences that wasn't properly fortified.

"No, you're scared. You just realised, that now, if you leave, he won't forgive you. You're scared shitless that if you up and run, he won't take you back. You know, for someone so old you're incredibly stupid sometimes."

That wasn't what Methos had expected from the Mortal. They had been friends first. Friends shouldn't tell each other that they were stupid. They were supposed to tell you that everything was okay and that you shouldn't worry. "You don't understand, Joe, it's just..." He trailed off, trying to find the right words to describe just how he was feeling while trying not to sound like he was looking for an excuse.

"Too much?" Joe supplied helpfully, still way too cheerful. Like he was enjoying this tremendously.

Methos looked at Joe, "Yeah, that's right. It's too much." Joe's intense gaze made Methos fidget in his chair, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. _Ass,_ he thought viciously, willing Joe to feel his wrath. Right now he didn't have the energy to actually do something about the way Joe was getting under his skin.

"So now you're sitting here, scaring off my patrons, thinking about what to do?"

His ire drained away slowly. The truth had a chilling effect on him sometimes. Especially when it came from outside of his own head. Smiling without humour at the irony of that, Methos looked back down at his beer again in an attempt to hide his unease, "I guess so."

"Well, okay. If you decide to break Mac's heart just because he actually feels comfortable enough with himself to tell an old bastard like you what exactly he thinks of you, try and tell me in advance so I can stock up on his scotch," he got up and started walking away. "Oh yeah, one more thing. You do know that just because someone actually voices something, it doesn't really change it. Considering you already knew that he loved you, what does it matter that he actually told you?"

Glaring at the Watcher as he walked away slowly, Methos had to admit that there was even more truth to what Joe had said, than he had strictly wanted to tell himself that night. _When exactly did I become_ that _predictable?_

He had been happy, damn it. Methos had actually been _happy._ Comfortable where he was. Content with what MacLeod had offered, without demanding everything in return.

And now it was too much.

With 4 words Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod had demanded something in return. Unvoiced commitment. Unspoken loyalty. Within the span it took to take a deep breath Duncan MacLeod had demanded everything of Methos that he couldn't give.

Everything he had sworn to never give again.

His inside in turmoil, Methos got up and slipped on his coat. Maybe it was best to avoid more thinking - and especially more talking to nosy Watchers - for the day. The cold air outside was refreshing, but made him painfully aware of how he had ended up in Paris yet again. At one point he had to teach the Highlander that central Europe wasn't a good place to stay in winter.

What _was_ he thinking about? As it looked, he wouldn't be around long enough for _this_ winter. Nevermind any others. Joe was right. He _was_ afraid of how MacLeod would react when he took off. What would he say, when Methos disclosed that he intended to leave?

Heedless of where he had gone, Methos only realised his feet had betrayed him when he felt the Presence. "Damn," he muttered as he looked down at the barge. The homely light giving the impression of a warmth he needed so badly. Wanted so badly.

Well, there was no time than the present. Did it really matter if he told MacLeod that he was leaving today, or tomorrow? Squaring his shoulders he started down the stone steps.

Too much. It was simply too much.


	2. Not Enough

Fandom: Highlander: The Series  
Pairing: DM/M  
Word Count: 1283  
Beta: Darkmoore  
Disclaimer: HL:TS doesn't belong to me, never did belong to me and never will. It is the sole property of Panzer/Davis. I am not making any money of this, it's just a work of love.

Please do not copy or post my stories without contacting me first. Thank you.

"Not Enough" 

Moving restlessly around the barge, MacLeod was only too aware of the fact that he had made quite a huge faux pas. What had ridden him, he had no clue. One moment he had been snuggled up to Methos, his lover warm and satiated in his arms, the next he had said the most inappropriate words. Well, inappropriate if your lover was a skittish five thousand year old Immortal with issues.

Why on earth had his inner censor taken a back-seat on that one? Oh yes. The mind-blowing orgasm had probably been responsible for that. "Damn it," he hissed, kicking himself inwardly for his own stupidity. He had probably driven him away. _"I love you, Methos."_ He was such an idiot.

The way Methos had stiffened in his arms had been more telling than anything. The warm body turning away from him, muscles that had been relaxed up to that point, tensing.

If there had been a way to take the words back, MacLeod would have done so. Instantly. Without hesitation. What they had worked. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't what he really wanted, but it worked. Commitment was something that was very important to him. When he loved somebody, he wanted to be able to show it, say it and even shout it from the nearest rooftop.

Not being able to voice his affection for Methos had been hard. To hold back like that, to keep the feelings inside, completely private. Naturally he had shown Methos how much he cared, in deeds more than words, especially when they were in bed together. In his looks, when he was sure the old Immortal wasn't paying attention. But he had held his tongue, held back words of endearments unless they were in bed together.

Maybe that had been why his mouth had run away with him? In bed Methos hadn't seemed to care at all what he said, never mind how silly it sounded, never mind how emotional they were. It had worked up to that moment when MacLeod had professed his love in a fit of stupidity.

Methos hadn't taken off immediately, but he hadn't stuck around very long after that, either. They had showered separately and MacLeod had already felt the chasm between them. From closeness to strangers in 4 words.

Knowing Methos as well as he did, MacLeod had realised he needed to let him go. How far that letting go would reach, he didn't know. Hopefully, if he gave him space, back paddled like mad, and let the other Immortal win a few rounds, Methos wouldn't feel the need to change continent. There had been something in Methos gaze as he had looked around the barge. Something final, and that scared MacLeod more than he dared admit to himself.

The only thing he had left to do, was let him go. As hard as it was, as painful as it was. If he didn't bring some kind of distance between them and instead clung to Methos like an insecure lover, the older Immortal would run. He'd run fast and far.

There were only two constants that MacLeod could depend on when it came to the ancient Immortal. Methos loved him. He knew that. Loved him more than MacLeod had ever been loved. To a point that he would die for him, risk falling out of favour to protect him. And the second one was, that Methos would always return. Like a bad penny he would turn up again and again on MacLeod's doorstep.

In a way, both those facts went a long way to ease MacLeod's mind. He had seen the love in Methos' eyes, had heard him whisper loving words into his ear in the throes of passion. Words in languages MacLeod couldn't understand or even name. However, the meaning was crystal clear and it warmed his heart.

If there was one thing they had, it was time. It wasn't like Methos wasn't enough, but MacLeod wanted more. He needed something stable to balance the dangers he had to face every day.

The sudden intrusion of a Presence was as much a blessing as it was a curse. He knew it was Methos. After the Double Quickening MacLeod had been able to identify the ancient Immortal without fail. Forcing himself to sit on the couch, he hid his fears and reached for the book he had been reading the night before.

When the door opened and Methos stepped in, MacLeod's heart sank at the closed expression on his lover's face. That was never a good sign. _How did the saying go? "If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it was, and always will be yours. If it never returns, it was never yours to begin with?"_ Steeling himself for what was to come he smiled more for his own benefit than Methos. This wasn't going to be easy.

"You're back early did Joe run dry on your beer?" MacLeod decided that keeping it light would be the best for both of them. Reproaches, or the mere sign of brooding could only be counter-productive.

Methos barely looked at him, but hung up his coat and approached the couch anyway. When he was firmly lodged beside MacLeod, crowding him into a corner with a lot of empty space on the other side, he met his gaze.

The decision was there to read and for a moment MacLeod seriously considered begging Methos to stay. The notion passed and he nodded to himself, "I see." He felt the flinch more than he saw it, could feel the tension in his lover's body once more. _Methos is scared,_ MacLeod thought in amazement.

"It's just so cold here," Methos said, the pained lines around his eyes growing deeper.

Forcing a small smile at that, MacLeod nodded again, "Aye." He saw the pain transform into annoyance. Somehow Methos was displeased with his easy acceptance. "You don't like the cold."

"That's true, I don't like the cold," Methos answered, his voice underlined with a sharp edge, daring MacLeod to twist that into a chain.

Closing his eyes for a moment, MacLeod scraped every bit of resolve together. _You can do this. Remember: If you love something, set it free._ He swallowed around the lump in his throat and allowed Methos to see some of the pain he was feeling. "Send a postcard when you get to that warm place?"

For a moment they just looked at each other, a whole conversation taking place between them, without words. The annoyance faded from Methos' eyes and he reached out to touch Duncan's face almost reverently. "I'll send postcards," he whispered and leaned in to seal that promise with a kiss. It was sweet and way too short - a goodbye kiss.

Fighting his urge to hold Methos back, to run to him as he put on his coat and ascended those few steps to the door, MacLeod just looked down at his hands. He was still holding the book he had used as a font. "Methos?" he asked as the old Immortal hesitated at the door. Waiting until his lover looked back at him, he cleared his throat, "Methos, I love you. And you'll always be welcome back. Just remember that."

The smile that he received was sad, but Methos didn't answer. MacLeod didn't expect an answer, but he knew his message had reached his lover. The pain had vanished completely from around those eyes he knew so well. He watched helplessly as Methos left, the sound of the door snapping into the lock had something so final to it. _I set you free, Methos._

"Just come back to me. Just come back."


	3. Commitment

Fandom: Highlander: The Series  
Pairing: DM/M  
Word Count: 1346  
Beta: Darkmoore  
Disclaimer: HL:TS doesn't belong to me, never did belong to me and never will. It is the sole property of Panzer/Davis. I am not making any money of this, it's just a work of love.

Please do not copy or post my stories without contacting me first. Thank you. Commitment 

Throwing clothes into an old duffel bag and stowing his sword in a transport case, Methos felt elated and sad at the same time. He couldn't fathom why, he had gotten what he wanted, hadn't he?

"_And you'll always be welcome back. Just remember that."_

Duncan had let him go, he had set him free. The walls that had been closing in around him after those 4 fateful words had vanished completely.

Methos looked around, a little lost. His apartment had not been a home, but it had been a haven in a lot of storms. He had been here too long, if it was so hard to leave it. It was probably for the best that he was heading somewhere warm. Greece, maybe. Or Egypt. He hadn't been in Egypt for nearly half a century.

With his journals securely stashed away in various deposits, Methos had nothing that held him there. The apartment had come furnished, he could cancel his rental agreement from overseas easily. Fairly bouncing he ran down the steps to his car. He could call one of his contacts in Paris tomorrow to have it collected from the airport and sold.

The way to the Charles de Gaulle airport seemed quite long, but it was his own impatience that made it seem like he'd never get there. Parking in a long term parking slot, Methos paid for a week in advance and entered with a light heart. Finally. Some place warm. He studied the charts for a moment, trying to find a city he felt like wintering in.

For a moment he thought he saw Duncan MacLeod standing there under the board, looking at him with that annoying acceptance. "For the love of ..." Methos muttered to himself and superimposed happiness over the sudden twinge of sadness he felt. It's not like Duncan had fought for him very hard, was it?

So why should he feel anything _but_ happiness? He didn't dare question why MacLeod had let him go so easily, because if he looked at it closely he needed to address why it _hurt_ so much that he didn't say anything. The expected painful accusations and the quarrel had been absent entirely. No begging, no questioning both his loyalty and his feelings. It had been almost eerie. Eerie and damn annoying.

He pushed the thought away. MacLeod letting him go was something _good_. Something to be happy about. His eyes settled on one word. Athens. A direct flight. _Perfect._

Finding the right desk was easy, purchasing a ticket was expensive and getting them to allow his sword onto the plane was almost a catastrophe. Naturally he had the right paper work with him at all times, but people were so nitpicky when it came to weapons on board of a plane nowadays.

Giving up the case with the sword was always hard on him. It wasn't so much a feeling of vulnerability, he just felt whole without its reassuring weight. He had left the short sword and the gun in the security deposit box, even before he had gone to MacLeod. So this was it. He was unarmed.

The only thought that was a comfort from this point forward was, that no _other_ Immortal he could possibly encounter would be armed either. That, and the crowds at the airports didn't give enough privacy to even consider a challenge.

Still, it would have eased his mind even more, if MacLeod had been there with him.

Ticket and duffelbag in hand, Methos approached the first security check. He was going to go straight to the gate. Two different sets of metal detectors went a long way to make him feel safe in a rather fundamental way.

Settling on a chair close to the desk at the gate Methos stared at it with unseeing eyes, his mind focussed on the way MacLeod had looked when they had talked earlier. _Talked?_ MacLeod had practically shoved him out the door. If it hadn't been for the reminder that he was always welcome Methos would have felt like he had been kicked out. _Be honest, old man. It _did _feel like he kicked you out,_ Methos thought darkly.

The seats started to fill up now and Methos threw a glance at the clock above the gate. It was almost time for boarding now. He'd feel better once he was in the air, on his way to Athens.

Why had MacLeod not said a word about his staying? Why hadn't he asked him not to leave? Maybe he had misinterpreted MacLeod's intentions and there really wasn't anything there but post-coital idiocy. Too little blood left in the brain or something like that. Maybe in the light he had looked like someone else for a moment and MacLeod had just muttered something in confusion._He said "I love you, Methos". How confused can he be?_

He didn't hear the boarding call, but when everyone else started to get up and form a loose line to the desk, Methos did the same.

_How can he say he loves me and then not fight for me?_ The memory of the pain on MacLeod's face was a strong one. Those hands cramped around the book he had been reading. A book that had been upside down. Methos swallowed. _Damn it ... Duncan...What are we doing to ourselves?_

"Monsieur?"

The stewardess looked at him worriedly, her hand outstretched towards the ticket Methos was crumpling in his hands. _Duncan..._ The way he had looked. What he had said. The expression on his face when he had asked for postcards. The way he had thrown worried glances at him that morning, after the 4 word fiasco. Like he wanted so badly to take them back. As if he had known how terrified Methos was, how scared of the whole thing between them. This relationship. His own feelings and the way he needed and wanted MacLeod.

"Monsieur? Comment-allez vous?(1)"

_Gods, what am I _doing _here?_ "I-" _What the _hell _am I doing here?_ He didn't know. "I changed my mind, I can't go on this plane. Fear of flying ... therapist said I should try and get on one." He backed away. There wasn't even a need to try and act, he was terrified of what he had nearly done. The way he had come close to throwing away _everything_ in his own stupidity. "I... I can't get on this plane," he repeated, more to himself than to anyone else.

One of the stewardesses approached him, clearly worried and maybe a bit relieved at not having this conversation at maximum altitude and half-way to Athens. "Sir, please calm down. No-one is going to force you to board the plane," she said soothingly in barely accented English and led him to one of the chairs. "I will have your luggage unpacked immediately, please wait here."

Next Methos knew he was handed the case with his sword and his bag, and led out by the stewardess, who kept looking at him worriedly. The car journey to the barge went by in a blur, his thoughts fretfully focussed on what Duncan would say and do when he turned up again like a bad penny. He had just _left_ the man.

Quietly entering the barge, Methos hung up his coat and moved towards the bed. There was no possibility of Duncan sleeping through the intrusion of Presence, but he was lying in bed, curled up on his side, eyes closed. It was a sign of utter trust that made Methos shiver involuntarily. Without hesitation Methos discarded his shoes and crawled onto the bed behind Duncan, moving to hold him tightly. "I think I found my warm place," he said gently. Relief flooded Methos when Duncan's turned, hugging him back tightly.

"I'm glad you finally realised."

No rancour, no accusation, just a profound happiness that Methos had come back. _I love you, Duncan._ Methos closed his eyes, trying to say the words, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. Not yet. It didn't make it any less true.

The End.

(1) Are you okay?


End file.
